The Lightning: Soul Force Saga

By James E. Wisher

Even a legend had to start somewhere.

Fredric St. Cloud just graduated from the citadel, top of his class of course.

He's barely finished celebrating when he finds himself fending off assassins trying to kill the future king.

Can Fredric keep Princess Andrew alive and stop the assassins?

Read now to see how Fredric got his nickname and became a legend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sand Hill Publishing
• Release date: Dec 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781945763397

James E. Wisher

James E. Wisher is a writer of science fiction and fantasy novels. He’s been writing since high school and reading everything he could get his hands on for as long as he can remember.

Book preview

1

Graduation

Fredric St. Cloud stood at the head of a line of three hundred and twenty warlords. Soon the Master of the Citadel would arrive and call his name. He was graduating at the top of his class. Lucky for him since his father, Dornkirk, wouldn’t have accepted anything less. The son of the King’s Champion had to live up to high expectations.

Not that he held himself to a lower standard than his father, if anything it was the opposite. He pushed as hard as he could then kept on going. He knew some of his fellow students thought him obsessive in his training and they had a point, but if you didn’t want to go all out, why bother at all?

He looked up and let the bright sun warm his face. Fall still held sway, but soon enough the bitter winter winds would howl down out of the north. Fredric despised winter, but his feelings did anything to lessen the cold.

His gaze darted around the courtyard where he’d spent so much time training over the past five years. The gathered seniors waited at the edge of the shadow cast by the towering black walls. Behind them the keep loomed as hard and unyielding as the masters that trained them.

Though he held himself at silent attention, behind him the faint whispers of his classmates came to him. Fredric used soul force to enhance his hearing.

Where do you think we’ll get deployed? He didn’t recognize the voice, but he knew the sentiment. Everyone wanted to know where they’d end up tomorrow.

I don’t care, as long as it’s somewhere warm, another unfamiliar voice said. Fredric generally kept to himself, so there were only a handful of students he knew well.

I suspect I’ll be going to the capital, Crown Prince Andrew said.

That bright, warm voice was one he’d come to know well over the past five years. In addition to completing his own training, Fredric had been assigned to keep an eye on the prince. No one really expected anything to happen, but better to be safe than sorry Father always insisted. To his surprise Fredric had come to both like and respect the future king. Andrew lacked the arrogance you often found in the sons of the nobility—most of it anyway.

A feminine laugh sent lightning racing through Fredric’s veins. He’d know that voice anywhere. Helena Kort was the most beautiful girl in their class, not to mention the strongest. She wielded a spear like an extension of herself and her soul force was amongst the densest. Only Fredric and a handful of others defeated her on a regular basis.

Andrew liked to joke that knocking a woman on her ass wasn’t the best way to court her, but Helena was different. If he went easy on her it would show a lack of respect for her as a warrior. Nothing else he might do would offend Helena more than that.

At last, Commander Connor emerged from the keep with two of his lieutenants, one of whom carried a box containing the newly minted warlords’ medallions. They wore crisp, blue and white uniforms with swords belted at their waists.

With his enhanced vision Fredric spotted a handful of older warlords watching the assembly. He put them out of his mind when the commander stopped a few feet away.

Fredric St. Cloud! the commander called.

Fredric stepped up, the commander pinned a silver medallion on his chest, and he moved to one side. That was it. All their work, all the years of training, and the only acknowledgement they got was their name called and a simple silver sword pin stuck through their uniform. The whole ceremony took less than an hour.

When the last warlord received his pin Commander Connor said, The rest of the day is yours. Report tomorrow morning for your first assignments.

They all saluted and the commander took his leave. It was a relief to have the technicalities over with so they could begin their true work. Fredric had barely taken a step back toward the keep when Andrew threw an arm around his neck.

What do you say we go to The Inn Between to celebrate? the prince said.

Fredric wasn’t much for celebrating. I don—

Helena’s coming, Andrew added.

Maybe a little celebrating would be okay. Not to mention the inn was constantly crawling with visiting warlords, so it should be a safe enough place to relax.

The Inn Between was a dingy little tavern fifteen miles east of The Citadel. The roof sagged like a rundown plow horse and sported more holes than it did shingles. The front steps appeared in serious danger of collapse and the less said about the stink swirling around it the better.

Rumor held that so many fights broke out the owner had decided to wait until his unruly patrons destroyed the place so he could build a new one from the ground up. Fredric had serious doubts about that, but it made a good story.

Prince Andrew led the way up the steps with Fredric and Helena close behind. The interior of the tavern matched the exterior. Whoever decorated the place had made a concerted effort to spend as little coin as possible. Split-log benches sat beside rough-hewn tables and three hurricane lamps hung from the support posts to provide light in the evening. The staff consisted of a one-legged barman hopping around pouring drinks and a pair of barmaids whose best days had come and gone before Fredric was born.

Why did you want to come here? Helena asked.

It’s tradition. Andrew led them to a corner table. You don’t want to leave The Citadel before you have a chance to try it, do you?

Helena and Fredric shared a look. For a prince, Andrew had surprisingly lowbrow tastes. When they’d settled in Andrew waved a barmaid over and ordered a round of ale.

The drinks arrived a moment later. Andrew took a sip, winced, and set the mug back down. Fredric and Helena ignored theirs.

So where do you think we’ll be assigned? Helena asked.

Fredric shrugged. He had no idea and didn’t especially care. His father might have something planned for him, but he doubted it. Dornkirk St. Cloud was the King’s Champion and the strongest warrior in the kingdom, yet he spent much of his time standing in the throne room behind Andrew’s father and glowering at nobles that didn’t have the guts to try anything anyway. Whatever assignment he received had to be better than that.

This was going to be a surprise, Andrew said. But I guess I can let you in on it. Father wants me to see more of my future kingdom. Tomorrow I return to the capital and then begin a tour of the land. I requested that the two of you be assigned as my personal guards.

Helena beamed, making her even more beautiful. I’ve always wanted to travel the kingdom, so this is perfect. Thank you, Andrew.

Yes, Fredric said. It should be interesting.

Fredric was debating trying to deaden his sense of taste enough to make the ale drinkable when a group of warlords in blue uniforms marched into the tavern like they owned the place. Fredric guessed the age of the four men and two women to be mid twenties, probably a squad visiting The Citadel between missions.

The lead man, his muscles bulging with soul force enhancements, locked gazes with Fredric. The newcomer had spiky blond hair, bright blue eyes, and looked eager for a fight. He suppressed a sigh and willed the soldier’s attention elsewhere.

It wasn’t to be, alas. The group strode across the almost empty common room and stopped in front of Fredric’s table.

You lot must be some of the new meat, the blond warlord said. Got your shiny new medallions and imagine you’re warriors. How about a little sparring match? You can show us what they’re teaching at The Citadel these days.

I’ll pass, senior, Fredric said.

That brought a round of laughs. A dark-haired woman put her hand on the leader’s shoulder. There’s your answer, John. They’re teaching cowardice.

Andrew bristled and his body went rigid. The prince had a short fuse. While he was strong, Fredric feared he wasn’t up to dealing with experienced warlords.

John turned his attention to Helena instead. You’re a pretty little thing. What do you say we head out back and have a little fun?

Why don’t you go out back by yourself? Helena said. Maybe you can find some female companionship in the tavern keeper’s pigsty.

Andrew snorted a laugh and John’s face burned red.

Fredric sighed again and drew power from his core.

John clamped a hand on Helena’s shoulder. Who do you think you’re talkin—

Helena’s fist crashed into John’s mouth, silencing him and sending him flying halfway across the tavern.

All the warlords accelerated.

Fredric went straight for the biggest man still standing.

He swung an uppercut into the opposing warlord’s stomach.

The man didn’t even try to block. He must have thought his iron skin would protect him. Clearly he’d never been hit by someone with a soul force as powerful as Fredric’s.

A fist harder than steel and driven with enough strength to crush a stone wall slammed into the arrogant warlord’s gut.

The breath rushed out of him and he flew up into the ceiling before crashing back down to the floor.

John started crawling back to his feet.

Fredric darted over.

A kick to the side of the head sent the blond warlord sliding across the floor. He slammed into the bar and went still.

A pained shout drew his attention to Andrew.

One of the female warlords had him in a headlock and was pounding him in the face with her free hand.

Fredric drew deeper from his core and rushed to his friend’s defense.

The female warlord’s fist